


nothing good happens after two am

by brokenstereotype



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, No Angst Because Fuck That, Sap Straight From A Maple Tree, Slow Feelings Sex, The Moon Shining Light On Their Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-20 10:06:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15531900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenstereotype/pseuds/brokenstereotype
Summary: Nothing good ever happens after two am, they say.But, it's a quarter passed one and Stiles is feeling optimistic.





	nothing good happens after two am

Nothing good ever happens after two am, they say.

But, it’s a quarter passed one and Stiles is feeling optimistic.

It’s silent in his bedroom. There could be an all out war going on outside, but right here and now, the air is still and the moment feels fragile and small.

The moon is smiling bright in the night sky, blurring everything in muted blues beyond the body laying atop of him.

Derek is tense muscles and overwhelmed facial twitches held above him. Every line of his body is strung tight and ready to snap. His eyebrows are pulled together in a frown. He looks unhappy and confused but the moonlight spills across his face and Stiles can see the vulnerability in his eyes.

Stiles doesn’t dare break the silence. He’s known Derek for three years and, even if this is the longest they have gone without poking at each other while in the other’s space, he knows how important this is. Three years of tripping around each other and finally (No, not finally. Perfectly. Right on time. It just makes _sense_ to him is what he’s getting at) they’ve fallen against each other and have found their footing.

Derek is two hundred pounds of tense muscle above him, clenched hands fisting the sheets on either side of Stiles’ head, arms holding his body at an incline an inch away from Stiles’.He’s staring at Stiles’ face with this intense as fuck concentration that makes sweat break out behind Stiles’ ears. It’s an expression he’s used to, sure. Since their worlds collided, Derek has always assessed Stiles with this twisted look like he’s not sure what exactly he’s looking at or how he even ended up where he was.

But now, with the moon as his witness, Derek’s look of confusion is hardened by the shadows of moonlight and it’s intimidating and heavy and so fucking _loud_ in the quiet early hours of a new day.

It makes him shiver, even though his entire body is on fire.

Derek’s breathing is steady, which cannot be said the same for Stiles as his heart feels about ready to hike its way up his throat and bury itself in the wrinkled fabric of Derek’s henely. He doesn’t dare look away from Derek’s face, not just because it’s beautiful and Stiles’ favorite thing to admire, but also because he’s scared as fuck that if he so much as swallows too loud, the moment will shatter into sharp pieces of glass and cut the thin string that’s keeping them tethered together.

He almost jumps out of his skin when Derek’s right hand moves from the bed to Stiles’ cheek, hesitating for a second that lasts a lifetime before laying hot and firm against his skin. His eyes flutter compulsively at the contact and he can’t help but to lean his head into Derek’s palm, watching Derek watch him with a heartbreaking look of wonder in his eyes.

Holding his breath in an attempt to keep his heart in line, he slowly brings his left hand up, watching Derek’s face carefully as the back of his fingers trail along his bicep and come to settle on his shoulder. The air in the room doesn’t crackle with negative reaction and the moon is still gleaming wonderfully for them and his pulse __alights with excitement and nerves and a mess of three years worth of admiration built from hell’s basement and up.

Derek’s thumb grazes against his bottom lip and Stiles’ own thumb jerks in surprise, ghosting over Derek’s pulse beating in his neck. They both seem to freeze for an indefinite amount of time, not knowing if the next step will trip a landmine.

Stiles wants to be good for Derek, to show him exactly how he feels with nothing but his actions. But, dammit, he’s worked hard at matching Derek step for stumbling step to get to where they are now, and they both deserve this. 

It’s so fucking tense in the room, Stiles is going mad with it. It just figures that their first time being this intimate with each other, it would be as hard and unmoving as the wall guarding Derek’s heart that Stiles has spent blood, sweat and tears to remove.

“Hey.” He whispers, the sound soft and sweet and tingly slipping past his lips. Derek’s eyes soften, just from the word, or maybe just Stiles’ voice and it’s _awesome._ Stiles smiles, can’t help it and really doesn’t want to. He feels his body relax into the mattress, didn’t realize just how tight he was clenching his muscles until he’s boneless and giddy and smiling dopily up at Derek’s face. He lets his thumb brush against Derek’s ear, smiling even brighter at the way Derek shivers.

He almost laughs at himself for being so nervous just a little while ago. It’s just Derek. But no, it’s not _just_ Derek, is it? There’s nothing that simple or elementary about him.

This is what they do. They stand toe to toe against each other with fire in their eyes and they dig and squirm into the other’s soul until there’s nothing but them at the bottom, two people wanting to share the same air and thoughts and space. They fight and they love. It’s what they do.

Now that they have reached that level, that level where he’s pretty sure they’re going to have sappy, slow feelings sex, he doesn’t want to hold back. So long has been spent holding onto these feelings for Derek in a tight grip and now, well now he’s going to let them go. Not in the form of words though. No, words are good for getting you out of bad situations and for knocking sense into your friends.

Derek doesn’t like words. All they’ve ever done for him is take away everything that he is and spat on him while he was down. Stiles likes words but he likes Derek even more.

Stiles channels all of his emotions and trust into his fingertips that whisper against Derek’s heated skin, the line of his jaw always held tight and strong but quivers under the touch of confessions Stiles is letting him feel. Derek’s face slowly smoothes out as Stiles trails his fingers over the bridge of his nose, the delicate dips under his eyes and eyebrows that pull down into a self conscious effort of shying away.

Derek’s lips part when Stiles’ fingers trace over them, letting loose a shaky exhale. His entire body seems to leak all tension at once and suddenly Derek is allowing his weight to lower and push along the length of Stiles’, hiding his face in Stiles’ neck. Stiles slides his arm from between the heat of where their bodies press and curls it around Derek’s neck, holding him close and breathing deep so he can feel Derek’s body rise and fall with his own.

He’s thumbing at Derek’s ear when he feels lips moving against his neck and he fights against instincts telling him to shoulder away the sensation, instead tilting his head slightly to the side and dragging his thumb down to the hook of Derek’s jaw where he can feel the muscle move as he kisses at the feverish skin surrounding his pulse. Derek hums (and it speaks _volumes_ that he doesn't even think to make a kitten purring joke), mouth opening to press wet kisses over the expanse of Stiles’ neck, throat and collarbones.

He’s moving with intent now, sweet jesus. All aboard the boner train.

Stiles can’t see his face from where it’s nudging and caressing every sensitive part of his neck he didn’t know about. Or maybe his entire body is one giant sensitive zone when it comes to Derek. Stiles smiles at the thought and palms his hands down the length of Derek’s curved back, hooking his fingertips under the hem of his shirt and sliding the fabric up. Derek allows him to tug the shirt over his head, grinning wickedly when a loose thread snags on a clawed finger. It’s so attractive, Stiles grips the back of his neck with both hands and hauls him in for a messy, open mouthed kiss.

It’s different than any of the previous kisses they’ve indulged in. Mainly because before it was the thrill of having lips against his own and basking in the wet slide of a tongue inside of his mouth. During those times, they weren’t thinking about anything other than swallowing the breath out of each others lungs, studying the types of reactions they can get when their hands touch skin and what kind of noises can be made when teeth nip and scrape at fingers and behind ears and kiss swollen lips.

It’s not just different, but it’s better because now their lips are coated with promises and there’s not a desperate urge to reduce the other to a puddle of sated limbs, but the need to get closer and slowly break apart every thought they’ve accumulated for the other and replace them with strong beams of love, acceptance and forgiveness.

Derek’s making these noises against his lips that Stiles can feel rather than hear. When he focuses more on the sounds, he realizes that Derek is whispering to himself. Things like, _how do I deserve you?_ And, _so beautiful, so smart, so strong._ All the while kissing at his neck and random spots on his cheeks that he supposes are where his moles are.

Stiles grabs at his shoulders, the thin skin exposing his ribs, the dips of his abdomen. This broken, needy whine slips passed his lips and echoes around the room. The moon glows just a bit brighter as if she’s delighted in hearing it.

Derek’s hands are warm and sure when he slides them under Stiles’ shirt, pushing it up up up and moving away with barely enough space to drag the shirt over his head. He gazes hard at Stiles’ exposed skin, as if it’s the first time seeing him laid bare. Stiles supposes it is a first, in a way. The first time he’s seeing Stiles as a whole and not just someone he’s found reluctantly attractive.

 _Feelings_ man, they are something supernatural in their own sense.

Their pants come off next, albeit with less grace and more shimmying with their refusal to separate from each other but hey, they get there in the end and isn’t _that_ just the motto for them?

Derek’s skin is scorching against his own and the moonlight makes him glow in a way that Stiles has always believed was only something he sees in his rose-colored-Derek glasses. There’s more kissing, which is lovely, especially when Stiles swears he can taste Derek on his tongue and in the crevices of his teeth and can practically feel where their hearts are beating in sync.

He slides his hands down the back of Derek’s cotton boxers, grabbing two handfuls of that glorious ass he could and has written odes to in his head, saved in a folder labeled as nothing but an exclamation point. Derek groans in his mouth, biting at Stiles’ bottom lip and bringing his own hands to the band of Stiles’ underwear, fingers dipping underneath and stroking at the flushed skin of his hipbones. They grind against each other, rolls of movements where their bodies ripple against each other like waves. Stiles pulls the boxers down gradually, Derek doing the same like it’s an unveiling of respective gifts.

Once they’re both blessedly and gloriously nude, they take a second to just _look_. It’s maddening how you can be so aware of someone for years, yet you’re only shown the cover photo and when you get to the story inside, you get to see the beauty and disaster bound together beneath skin and smiles and glazed eyes. If Derek were a book, he would be a series with hauntingly beautiful words that leave you with tear stained cheeks, a broken heart and hope. But, he’s not a book. Not even a sonnet or a Greek Tragedy. Derek is a single line of vowels and consonants that you have to feel and examine with closed eyes and careful fingertips for the full effect. 

Derek reaches for the lube hidden beneath the pillow next to Stiles’ head, never taking his eyes away from Stiles’. He smiles, not for any reason, just for the fact that they’re here. Together. How it is and how it’s always been. Stiles smiles back.

The first push of a thick finger inside of him is nice, a simple _hey, I'm here._ The second is a leap and a jump passed amazing and the third is fucking heaven with an added twist of the wrist and a gasp that says so much more than anything he could string together at the moment. Derek watches the twitches of Stiles’ legs, the rise and fall of his chest and the way the moonlight makes his eyes sparkle.

Derek once told him he didn’t believe in the _Spark_ bullshit Deaton tried to feed them. He said that it was an insult and undermine to the pure power that radiates Stiles from his very core to the delicate shine of his eyes. Stiles had punched his arm at the sentiment, but really, that’s when he knew that Derek had his heart for the taking.

Derek opens him up and then some, mouth stretching wide with every hitch of Stiles’ breath and every time one of his knuckles crack from gripping the bedsheet too tight. He pulls his fingers free and immediately lays his body out over Stiles’, the _bump bump bump_ of his heart reverberating against Derek’s chest and back like feedback. He feels wrecked already, from the way Derek drops kisses to his shoulders and neck and chin, fingertips dancing along his sides like raindrops.

Pressed solid along Stiles’ body, Derek slides himself inside and it’s like all of Stiles’ bones and joints and his bloodstream fucking _sing_ at how full he feels. He braces his hands on Derek’s back, the muscles moving rhythmically beneath his touch and he holds on for the ride. They kiss and they moan between their shared air, rocking together with an awareness for the others movements that has always come naturally for them. Stiles hooks his ankles around Derek's hips as Derek curves an arm around his lower back, basically hugging Stiles' body to his own. There's not an inch of space between them and Stiles clings on tighter to Derek's back because it's  _beautiful_.

“I’ve never,” Derek says right against his ear, something just for Stiles to hear. There’s wonder in his voice, hips pushing to get deeper and deeper. “I’ve never felt this way. About anyone.”

Stiles wants to say, _me either,_ but with the way his heart is practically panting at that admission, he figures Derek already knows. He drags his lips against Derek's shoulder and nods his head, hair tickling Derek's ear. They're so close, yet Stiles is still trying to fucking climb inside of Derek.

“Fuck.” Derek bites out. Stiles thinks it’s in response to the wet slide of his tongue at the bottom of his ear. But then Derek continues and says, “I’m so fucking terrified. _You_ terrify me, Stiles.”

A surprised sound hiccups from his chest and Stiles taps his fingers at Derek’s shoulder to encourage an explanation. His hips don’t stop moving, though.

There’s a bite to his neck that makes his heart startle, but it’s soft and grounding like an apology from Derek for being so shit at expressing himself. Derek palms at the side of his face and then they’re nose to nose, breath rough and shaky against heated skin. Stiles licks at his lips and tries not to tremble at how weak and split open he feels.

“I want to keep you. And I want you to be mine - not _mine_ like a possession, but mine to love and protect and laugh with. I want to _keep_ you and I don’t want to lose you. I’m scared that I'll lose you and lose the last piece of me that is whole.” Derek says.

Stiles wants to immediately say _you won’t,_ but he can’t. He can’t promise something that could very well happen.

Derek's body rolls with the beat of his words, a set of determination in the snaps of his hips. Stiles' eyes rolls back in his head momentarily. 

"I want to fight with you - makes me so proud when you give as good as you get. Means you care enough about me to get angry at what i say." He's smiling, enough so that Stiles can see the sharp point of fangs slicing through the moonlight. "Want to fight alongside of you. Next to you, always next to you. You're so brave, it drives me crazy. You're not a wolf, but you may as well be with how much your instincts tell you to  _protect_." 

He groans, voice wrecked and strained after scraping those words from his throat and pushing them into the space between them. Derek groans against Stiles' neck, the vibrations making butterflies freak the fuck out in his belly.

“I think,” Stikes says, gripping tight to Derek’s shoulder when he hits a spot that makes his eyes flutter. “I think being with you and losing you would be better than not being with you and losing you.” Which sounds like shit and selfish, but it’s true.

“I am so gone for you, like _embarrassing_ levels of devotion. If I didn’t get to have you like _this_ and in the mornings and next to me on the couch while we watch shit television - I don’t think I would want to live in that world anyways.” His voice is small, quiet in a way he only ever gets around Derek. He keeps his eyes open wide and vulnerable so that Derek can see everything he’s say and more; how he’ll fight till his last breath to make sure Derek or himself never loses anybody else that they care for, how he’ll be there with an outstretched hand after the entire world crumbles around them.

He doesn’t say, _I love you_. There’s no need for such empty words when he can show Derek how he feels with touch and the open window to his soul through his eyes.

The way they move together is like a ballad; slow and gracious and as one entity. It feels like they’re connected in a way that has nothing to do with the dick in his ass, ahem. But when Derek pulls out and guides Stiles to roll onto his belly, Stiles follows the hands on his hips with grace he’s never been associated with before. Derek helps Stiles sit up on his knees and then he lines up the length of his body with the back of Stiles’ and they’re even closer than before and the thought and feel fit makes Stiles’ body shake with a toe curling shiver.

Derek pushes back in to him and rolls his body against Stiles, placing a palm against his belly and leading Stiles in a dance that picks up tempo as their breathing kicks up tenfold. They can't see each other this way, but it's good because now is when they get to  _feel_. It's sensory overload, the way Stiles reacts to the touch of Derek all around him, the scrape of stubble against the back of his neck, firm hand palming the entire expanse of his lower abdomen. Stiles holds on to Derek's tighs, practically sitting in Derek's lap now. 

The bed squeaks with every thrust, although Stiles can barely hear it over the pounding of his heart and the beating of Derek’s between his shoulder blades. Derek’s chin is hooked over his shoulder, quick huffs of breath in his ear and he’s whispering adjectives and words Stiles has never heard before ( _god, Derek's such a nerd_ , he thinks with a smile as sweet as syrup) in between kisses to the sensitive part behind his ear.

Derek takes a hold of Stiles’ cock in his hand, slowly stroking, but more like caressing as they choke out groans and whimpers beneath the pale moonlight. When Stiles comes, it’s with a sigh and an amazed smile, limbs going gooey soft and boneless. Derek keeps him close, using the come on his hand to draw swirls and hearts, the fucking _sap_ , along Stiles’ belly and chest. It used to gross Stiles out when Derek smeared his come over his skin, but now it feels like a representation of his spilled heart twirling around their grinding bodies. Derek skims his nose along Stiles’ hairline when he comes, breath shaky as he slowly stops their movements and then, well, then they’re essentially cuddling while kneeling on the bed. Stiles closes his eyes and lets Derek nose around his neck and he hums when Derek kisses at the corner of his mouth.

They separate enough so that Derek can pull out and they fall to the mattress with unrestrained smiles as they lay facing each other on their sides. Usually, they cuddle under the covers with Stiles’ back to Derek’s front, but tonight, they stare at each other with only their fingers twined together and the covers remain untucked beneath them. 

It feels better this way, without an arm across a waist keeping them tied together or legs tangled so when one moves, the other follows. It's a declaration of trust. The space and option to leave before the moon retreats and the sun rises, but knowing that they won't. It's an amazing feeling, one that makes Stiles nuzzle his face into his pillow to have something soft for his smile to rest upon. 

The moonlight glows along their skin as they breathe together. Derek brings their joined hands to his lips and kisses each of Stiles' knuckles. 

Stiles catches the time on his bedside table clock before his eyes close.

Nothing good ever happens after two am, they say.

But, it’s a quarter passed two and Stiles is happy to prove that theory wrong.


End file.
